Chasing the Phoenix
by Tawny Owl
Summary: Death Eaters on allotments, Kingsley forging evidence about Sirius Black, and her own personal stalker. Tonks has a bad few days prior to OotP
1. Scrimgeour's Little Joke

**Disclaimer: All JKR's really. I'm just playing.**

It wasn't my finest hour admittedly, and as my mother has always pointed out subtlety is not one of my strong points. I couldn't help it though. That's why I became an Auror: to stand up for people who seem unable to help themselves, and there's something about the slight figure of Arthur Weasley defending what he believes to the thugs of MLE that just inspires you to join in.

"Tonks get in here."

Oh great. I try to avoid too much eye rolling and sidle up to Kingsley's cubicle. I do not lean on the edge. Not after what happened last time: it took him ages to re-pin all those pictures of Sirius Black back in place.

"Wotcher," I manage, but it's lacking any real oomph.

"Sit down Tonks," Kingsley looks up from his parchment, "if you can find room."

I move paperwork from one pile to another and then sit down trying to avoid the eyes of my mum's cousin that are staring down at me from every angle.

"Look," I take a deep breath, "I'm sorry, but that guy from MLE was out of order, and Arthur Weasley may be a bit nutty with the Muggle stuff, but he's allowed an opinion…."

"I know what happened Tonks," he's looking back at his parchment again. I swear if he wasn't so trendy with the Muggle clothes and everything we drones would think he was a proper swot, "actually after your 'Dumbledore is the best thing since sugar quills' outburst most of the canteen knows. Was Scrimgeour hard on you?"

"Not really. How I'm a Ministry representative even before my shift starts, He Who Must Not Be Named has not returned, blah blah blah."

"I can see you listened carefully."

"It was hard to with my ears burning," I wrinkle my nose, "besides heard it all before, haven't I?"

He finally puts the parchment away and gives me a grin which makes me feel heaps better, "yes it's best not have your own opinion these days. Want to talk about it?"

"Nah," I lie. I mean it's not like I haven't talked about it, but everyone else seems happy just to file it away; job done. Kingsley is looking at me and I can feel the gap he's creating in the conversation so I sigh and give in, "I was just one of the first to get to Hogwarts after the Triwizard Tournament, and I spoke to some of those kids, including Arthur's, and it just all seemed so real. I don't see why anyone would lie about something like that."

I still think about them sometimes. I've never seen the twins so quiet before; it was all so surreal, so many shocked white faces among all that bunting and a brass band. I shiver and Kingsley nods slowly.

"Unfortunately we don't get to make Ministry Policy. It wont be like this forever Tonks, hang in there."

"Trying to. Worked too hard to get this far and then crash."

I stand up slowly trying not to catch my feet on anything and retrieve my manila folder from Kingsley's desk.

"What you got there?" he asks.

This time I give the eye rolling full reign, "Scrimgeour's little joke," I pass the folder over.

"The Order of the Phoenix?" Kingsley reads. He takes a moment and then looks up at me with raised eyebrows, but apart from that I can't really gauge his expression.

"Oh come on you must know about them. Sirius Black was a member I think."

"Yes," he says carefully, "I know all about the Order of the Phoenix."

"Well even though He Who Must Not Be Named has absolutely under no circumstances returned Dumbledore believes he has and may be reforming them. I have been given the absolutely fascinating job of researching those who are still about and might be inclined to re join."

"And any potential recruits I suppose?"

I nod limply.

"Lucky you," Kingsley opens the folder his eyes flicking as he looks at the pitiful amount of information that's in there. "You realise most of these people are now dead?"

"Yes. I'm sure Scrimgeour thought it would make things more interesting."

He hands the folder back, "don't waste too much time on it; you have proper work to be getting on with. Don't think I've forgotten about Mrs Swithering."

I let out a mirthless laugh and then drag myself back to my own cubicle. Mrs Swithering has been seeing Death Eaters since The Triwizard Story hit The Prophet. Apparently they are using her husband's allotment shed as their headquarters. Given the choice I think I'd rather research dead wizards from a secret organisation. I'd even take the dead wizards over the current illegal trade in Class C Substances. Why MLE passed that up here to us I'll never know. I look up at my Weird Sisters Poster and the photo of me and mum and dad at my graduation. I even have a picture of Sirius, but that's in my drawer. It's one of him and his school friends, one of the few that I liberated from my mums obsessive clear outs. I'm not sure why I have it. It's not that I believe he was innocent or anything; not really. I try not to think about it too much if I'm honest. I do know he fought in the First War though, and well, it reminds me why I'm here in a strange way. The Sirius I remember, the one in the photo, was brave and confident and doing what he believed in even though it was dangerous and his family had disowned him. If I'm honest I can't quite associate that with the pictures of the mass murderer in Kingsley's cubical. I take one look at my report on impounded Venomous Tentacula seeds before grabbing the manila folder and heading down to the Department of Mysteries.


	2. History Lesson

It seems fitting that the Ministry keeps its filing system in the Department of Mysteries. After all it's a mystery how they ever manage to find anything after it's put in there. There are hundreds of scrolls squashed in a huge vaulted room, nobody knows how old some of them are, nobody is really brave enough to find out as all they found of the last person to go in there was the remains of the string they'd been planning to use to find there way out again. The whole thing is guarded by a petit witch who inhales sharply if you touch any of the rarer documents in slightly the wrong way, and she is well aware of my clumsiness. I can see her eyes narrow as I approach.

"Wotcher, Miss Mereweather," I say, "I'm looking for stuff from the late seventies."

"Leave your coffee here," she lights her wand, "and then I'll show you."

I obliging put my coffee down on the desk and she quickly moves it out of the reach of my elbows, "anything in particular, Auror Tonks?"

"The Order of The Phoenix."

She nods and begins to lead the way down a long corridor formed out of shelves that stretch nearly up to the ceiling, we turn left among more shelves, and then right and then she stops so suddenly I nearly barrel into her. She waves a wand above her head and several scrolls came flying from the upper shelves bringing a dust shower with them.

"All personnel files?"

"Yes, please."

A few more came shooting down into her arms. Miss Mereweather looks at me for a few moments, hesitating slightly before she hands them to me, "you'll find a desk at the end of the row."

"Thank you."

"If you do see Mr Dode you will point him to the way out wont you?"

"Of course."

"It's just that he's been in there a while and his wife is starting to worry."

I do not ask, do not want to know, so just smile politely.

"And do stay away from the restricted section," Miss Mereweather hesitates again, watching me cautiously, "you will be careful with the ink well?"

The concern on her face is so adamant that I have to work to suppress a smile. "Oh, yes."

She nods, looking as though she doesn't quite believe me and then turns quickly and begins walking back along the row of shelves. I let my smile slide across my face before juggling the scrolls until I'm balanced enough to retrieve my wand and go in search of a desk.

The information supplied by Scrimgeour is basically a list of names and some photos, mostly of Dumbledore from the time of the First War, which is ridiculous because to know what he looks like these days people have to simply open The Prophet. The scrolls are more use; it appears that in the First War when the Ministry was still in chaos somebody tried to make a record of the secret organisation that had fought He Who Must Not Be Named. Who ever it was they probably started a great tradition in the Ministry of making notes about things rather than actually doing them. There's nothing in the scrolls that seems to come from the Order members themselves, just a photo, a biog and anything else the scribe thought might be useful. Mostly how they had died. I begin to check the names off on the list. As Kingsley predicted it doesn't look like there's much to go on.

The Potters, dead, well I know that. The Longbottoms, hospitalised, Sirius Black, his scroll is probably with Kingsley, but I can write him off straight away, Benjy Fenwick, dead, The Prewett brothers, Edgar Bones, Dorcas Meadowes.

I sit back in my chair and sigh holding her picture, it was taken a long time ago, possibly when she was still at Hogwarts, she looks so young, she must have joined the Order almost straight from school, but then so had Sirius. The young woman with curled blonde hair stares out from the picture trying to look confident and not at all amused at whatever the person behind the camera is doing to distract her. I wonder what it must have been like to fight for what you believed in, to give up your life, not die, but dedicate all your time and energy to fighting something so that others can have a safer place to live. I thought that's what being an Auror was, but I hadn't counted on Minister Fudge and his Ostrich Policy. Alright, the fact that He Who Must Not Be Named is back is based on Dumbledore's word, which is based on the word of Harry Potter, but surely the Ministry should be doing something to check if it's true instead of just smiling happily and pretending that everything is fine. Not that I don't want everything to be fine, I would love Fudge to be right as much as I'd hate to admit it out loud, but I'd rather we were at least checking that he was. I put Dorcas Meadowes back in her scroll and decide to call it a day.

Miss Mereweather snatches the scrolls out of my hands as I leave and begins checking them for damage.

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"I said not to waste your time on that," Kingsley says as I appear in his cubicle holding my manila folder and a new cup of coffee.

"Can I look at the file on Black?"

"No."

"Please?"

"It's confidential Tonks, and you have a declared interest."

"I did not declare my interest, it was forced upon me."

"You don't care if we catch him then?"

"I am a Ministry employee and therefore do not have an opinion," I take a sip of my coffee to hide my grin.

"You're learning," Kingsley grins back.

"I have good teachers."

"Thank you, but I'm still not letting you see the file."

"You coming to the pub latter?"

"Can't."

"Hot date?"

"Not your business Tonks, unlike Mrs Swithering who has flooed for you three times since before lunch I believe."

I stick out my tongue and go out to lunch to finish my coffee and make no effort to floo Mrs Swithering.

**A/N Just read this back and the filing system seems a bit like the Unseen University Library. So thanks to Mr Pratchett as well for being a subconscious influence!**


	3. Interrogating Arthur

I find a bench in one of the parks in Muggle London. It's nice out here with the pigeons and the squirrels so I curl my feet up and begin to look at the paper work I've brought with me. That makes me sound like a hard worker, but I'm really not, honest, it's just sometimes my mind will think of things when it's otherwise unoccupied, and it's handy to have my notes with me.

Unfortunately this time it doesn't seem to be working so I amuse myself by watching the other lunchtime escapees. My eyes finally settle on a man occupying the bench to my right. He's reading a tatty paperback with the cover almost hanging off and most of the pages look like they have been folded over. It reminds me of my books: mistreated but well loved, and it must be fascinating judging by how many times he seems to have read it. Unless of course he's borrowed it from a friend, I think hearing Moody's voice in my head warning me about the dangers of presumption. I slouch down a bit to see if I can see the book's title but he shifts suddenly, crossing his other leg so I can't quite see. When I sit up I realise he is looking straight at me and I smile sheepishly realising I've been caught, either that or he's noticed my orange hair. He doesn't smile back but frowns slightly and returns to his book, which is obviously far more interesting. I look instead at my notes from the scrolls and wonder if it was cut throat of Dumbledore to recruit his students, quite a few of his students, and their teachers. The teachers seemed to do much better though, the majority of them living to be my teachers. Although that doesn't mean I'm going to swan into Hogwarts and confront Minerva McGonagall about her suspected Order activity. I value my life thank you very much. Instead I begin to search for my case notes on the Venomous Tentacula Seeds. What I find instead is the last page of an interview with Ronald Billious Weasley. I thought I'd filed all these after the Triwizard Tournament fiasco. Why the hell not? It's Arthur Weasley's fault I'm in this bloody mess anyway.

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"Tonks," Angela Gibbert pops her head over the divide as I drop my stuff back on my desk. "Mrs Swithering's in the fire place for you."

The poor girl tries to hide her smile but can't quite manage it.

"I'm not here."

"Please Tonks, she's driving us all nuts."

"Can't someone else do it?"

"But you're such a nice young lady," she mimics.

"I'll call her back before I leave, I promise, but right now I have to go down to Misuse of Muggle Artefacts."

Angela groans but her head retreats. Not feeling as guilty as I should I sneak into the elevator.

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I'm never sure what to call Arthur Weasley, when I visited The Burrow as a lanky teen it was always Mr Weasley, although if I do that now it's definitely going to sound like an interrogation. I try Arthur a few times until it sounds less unfamiliar, but by that time he has already looked up and given me a cheery wave through the glass.

"Wotcher, Mr Weasley," I say and then curse myself.

"Hello Tonks, take a seat."

I slide into Perkins' chair. The office reminds me a lot of my flat: the complete chaos of clutter, things spilling out of drawers, it should make me feel right at home, but I am here under false pretences and I fidget slightly.

"Did you get into trouble about earlier?" He is polishing his glasses, squinting at me across what appears to be a disassembled toaster.

"No, not really, just some extra work to do, you know?"

"Oh yes," he chuckles, "how can I help? I presume this isn't a social visit. Just promise me no more regurgitating toilets."

"No, I just wondered about earlier. You believe Dumbledore, about what he's saying?"

Arthur looks up at the door, probably checking that it's closed, "yes, I've never made any secret about that. After today it sounded like you believe an awful lot of what he has to say too."

I don't answer, I realise I'm biting my nails and sit on my hands quickly. My mum always used to say that I shouldn't be allowed to get away with it just because I could morph them back again. "I just thought that maybe you were prepared to do something about it."

He looks at me again and I can see the tips of his ears going slightly red, Charlie used to look like that when I caught him out in a lie, and he reaches for his cup in order for something to do.

I feel mean but I press my advantage anyway, "have you ever heard of the Order of the Phoenix?"

I duck just in time, the sprayed tea misses my head by millimetres and I have to nearly climb over his desk to slap him on the back. I am about to call for help when he manages to start breathing again and begins cleaning his glasses furiously.

"Sorry about that."

"No, my fault Mr Weasley, I'm a bit blunt that's all."

He recovers himself sitting back in his chair, "what are you accusing me of?"

"Nothing," I say quickly, thinking it's probably best not to mention my extra credit assignment from Scrimgeour, "they were around in the First War and if He is back than I just thought…."

I don't know what I thought, that this rather friendly Muggle boffin would be out fighting Death Eaters on his days off. I look at his astounded expression and feel like a complete fool.

"Sorry," I wrinkle my nose in apology, "just you're always so ready to defend Dumbledore. I thought you might know something."

"Why in Merlin's name are you interested, Tonks?"

He sounds worried about me, and of course he should because I am obviously completely crackers, "oh just something I was thinking about."

"I shouldn't let it worry you."

The fatherly concern is really too much.

"Thanks for your time then," I stand up rather too quickly banging my knee on the desk, "give Charlie my best if you see him," I add for niceties sake and run back to my cubicle.


	4. Words of Wisdom

I tell myself that it's too late to floo Mrs Swithering. Instead I finally finish the report on the Tentacula seeds. Well finish would be a loose term, it has a beginning, a middle and an end but it's incredibly sloppy and half way through I got distracted and began thinking about my run in with Arthur, which meant I was still thinking about The Order of the Phoenix which meant I kept spelling Tentacula wrong and gave up. Everyone else has already gone to the pub and I will probably have some catching up to do. I'm hindered further in my escape by a roving magical eye that fixes on me as I head for the elevator.

"Wotcher, Mad-Eye, so you're the hot date Kingsley keeps passing us over for?"

He snorts at me through what's left of his nose; "well I would be if your boss could finish work on time."

The last time I saw Moody he was still in St Mungo's. I'd owled him since he was discharged because I worried about the old softie, and spending a year of your life in a trunk can't be good for anyone's confidence. Besides I miss him popping up next to my desk and offering his gruff advice. How anyone with a wooden leg can move that quietly I will never know. He was also an original Order member; one who is very much alive.

"What do you know about the Order of the Phoenix?" I ask because I've never been afraid of making a fool of myself twice in one day.

"Subtle Tonks," Kingsley's disembodied voice floats out of the cubicle, "ignore her Moody, it's a joke she hasn't got yet."

"Ha ha," I turn back to my favourite ex Auror and give him my best beguiling smile.

"A lot," he says, "but that doesn't mean I'm going to share it with you."

"Dumbledore not owled you about a reunion then?"

Kingsley comes into the corridor pulling on his coat, "Scrimgeour's got her looking into it," he says, "tracing old members, potential new ones. I told her not to waste her time." He gives me a significant look; one that I happily ignore.

Moody snorts again, although this time it could be a laugh, his good eye is looking a lot brighter anyway. "Lets see what you've got then."

I nip back to my desk for the folder and hand it over ignoring Kingsley's obvious impatience. Moody seems much more amused and flicks through the doodles I've done since this morning. Eventually he lets out a proper laugh, a bark that makes me and Kingsley jump into each other.

"Severus Snape?" Moody asks and I can feel my cheeks going red, even Kingsley looks surprised.

"I know," I blurt out suddenly seized with the compulsion to defend myself, "but Dumbledore gave you a teaching job even though it was controversial, no offence, and there was all that fuss about Hagrid being the Care of Magical Creatures Professor, and I mean your predecessor wasn't exactly the responsible parents choice was he? And Dumbledore's a big one for second chances. Merlin knows he gave me enough of them at school, and well it was fairly common knowledge that Snape was accused of being a Death Eater in the eighties and Dumbledore stood up for him and then gave him a job when hardly any one else would have done".

"Breathe, Tonks," Kingsley says calmly.

Moody is still looking at me as though I've morphed an extra head; he snaps the folder shut and hands it back to me. "I'll give you some advice," he says, "if the Order were recruiting they'd be looking for younger people than me and Snape. They'd want people with fight still in them, probably with connections to the Ministry, people that could hold their own in a duel. They're the people you should be thinking about."

I nod glumly.

"You should also learn to trust your instincts, could save your life one day. You ready now Kingsley?"

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I'm in a bad mood when I finally make it to the pub, it doesn't help that everyone else is already well on their way to inebriation.

"Please tell me you flooed Mrs Swithering," Angela says as I find a spare chair and pull it up to the table.

"I'll do it tomorrow."

"You ok?"

"Yes, just had a bad day."

"That thing with Scrimgeour?"

"Partly," that and the fact I'd just made a complete idiot of myself in front of my boss and the man I admire almost as much as my dad. Oh Merlin, no wonder I didn't get an invite to their secret boys meeting or whatever they were up to.

"I'll get you a drink," Angela pats me on the back.

Unfortunately I have more than one drink before I manage to make my way home, and I should have known better than to let Angela keep going to the bar because it probably meant they were doubles. A fact that's proved as I manage a spectacular trip on the way to the door. Fortunately there's someone there to grab me and set me up right again. I don't even think I manage to say thank you, but he's very polite about it, especially when I spill beer all over his newspaper. Still serves him right, who takes a newspaper to the pub on a Friday night anyway?


	5. Memory Lane

I finally roll out of bed at midday on Saturday, and set out to meet my mum in Diagon Alley. I stop on the way to buy flowers because it's been a while and she may be prickly. I appropriately choose roses and then treat myself to a moment staring at the brooms in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. My passion for Quidditch always outweighed any actual talent I had, but I still like to look and dream. It's then that I begin to get the disturbing feeling that I'm being watched. Not that it's particularly sinister or creepy, but it's enough to make me look round. For all the good that's going to do in Diagon Alley on a Saturday. Hell, there are so many people about it would be unlikely if someone didn't glance at me at least. Even so I have a good look at the young witches gossiping on the corner and the parent who is screaming at young Jimmy to come over here and do as he's told, and the man who is very interested in a window display on the other side of the street.

I'm too young to be turning into Mad-Eye, next thing I know I'll be enchanting dustbins. I change my appearance though, just in case, causing Jimmy to stare at me in shock. I give him a wink and hurry off to the Leaky Cauldron to find Andomeda Tonks sipping coffee and looking like there is a bad smell under her nose, which there probably is now that I've arrived.

"Pink?" She asks and my hand flutters to my hair; it's a while before I realise she is talking about the roses.

"Don't you like them?"

"I'm sure they're lovely."

That didn't answer my question, but I refrain from telling her that and order a pumpkin juice, because I'm still feeling a bit tender after last night.

"So, how have you been?"

"Oh, you know."

"No, I don't. I haven't seen you in weeks, you could have got married and left the country for all I know."

"Is that wishful thinking?"

She doesn't smile but becomes less frosty, "we miss you Nymphadora, you do a dangerous job and it's just nice to hear you're alright occasionally."

"Not so dangerous at the moment."

I tell her about the Tentacula seeds and she shares the gossip about Mrs Price from down the road. I talk about Mrs Swithering and she gives me a recipe for cheese scones that she knows I will mess up. We are getting on almost cordially when I mention her cousin. Her lips thin slightly, "this isn't the place to be discussing it."

"No one can hear, mum," I gesture around the busy pub and take the screwed up photo out of my pocket.

"Where did you get this?" She smoothes it out in front of her, and the figures in it move to get out of her way.

"I took it," I confess, "from the spare bedroom." I don't admit that I keep it in my drawer at work.

She nods, "he always was very handsome."

"Yes," I say although I was really too young when I knew him to form an opinion on the handsomeness of boys, especially the ones I was related to.

"The other people in the picture, do you know who they are?"

"Is this for work?"

Yes it is, and I could have asked Kingsley, I could have asked anyone, but I don't want to because Scrimgeour and his little joke is turning into something more important. I want to learn about these people, from someone who actually knew them and hadn't just recorded them as a statistic. Plus I'm slightly embarrassed about how absorbed I've become.

My mum frowns for a moment, "you must know this one is James Potter."

I nod because everyone knows James Potter. "What about the other two?"

"You know I remember when this was taken. Sirius never could take his friends home so they came to visit with Ted and I just after we were married. Only for the day….not that it matters now. Why do you want to know?"

I resist the urge to yell at her to just get on with it. "I'm curious," I say, I don't add that it is because I have an unnatural obsession with an old secret society and I think that those two people, who were friends with Sirius and James, might help me.

"The short one is Peter Pettigrew," she says quickly and I slide the photo back to look at the boy who is squashed between James and my cousin. Unfortunately that makes sense. Now that I'd heard his name I can see the resemblance to the photo in his file, although he looks slightly rounder, more relaxed and less like the camera being pointed at him is a Death Eater's Wand. It makes me go cold though; to suddenly see my cousin with two of the people he had supposedly murdered. Time trickles away as I watch him grab Peter in a headlock and ruffle his hair. I look up at my mum again trying to hide my disappointment, one chance left, although I have a sinking feeling that I know who it will be.

"The other boy," she seems to think for a moment, "he never said very much, not to me and Ted anyway, unusual name. Lupin I think?"

"Remus Lupin?" I say it wearily and much too loudly. Some of the people sitting near us look up, and I think someone begins to choke on their tea. I'm about to look around when I'm brought back by my mother's scowl and impatient: "really Dora keep your voice down."

I look at the picture disappointed that it has led to yet another dead end. Can't blame me for trying though. Even if I should have worked it out. His name was thrown about a bit by Kingsley after Sirius escaped from Hogwarts. It was usually followed by expletives because he wasn't as helpful as the Ministry thought a werewolf in a potentially sticky situation should be. Kingsley probably has his file squirreled away in his cubicle as well, which is a pain because I'm beginning to have an idea.

"I don't suppose you know where he is?" Again another long shot leading to dead end.

"Why would I? Dora if this is about Sirius you need to let it go. There is no point obsessing over it."

She's one to talk; I remember her owling the Ministry to get them to at least give him a trial and then bundling all the pictures of him into the loft. As soon as I heard he'd escaped I lived in fear of coming home at the weekends to find him hiding out in my old tree house. I had wanted to believe he was innocent, perhaps at the time I had but somewhere along the line I think I had found it easier to just be cynical. I choose not to go there again and we spend the rest of the afternoon worrying about my dad's health and the scandalous price of cauldrons these days.


	6. Am I insane?

I try not to obsess, I really do, but things keep creeping in to my head when I'm thinking about mundane tasks like what to listen to on the WWN, or whether I can be bothered to actually attempt to cook something for dinner. The truth is my burgeoning paranoia does not leave me over the weekend. I finally acknowledge the fact that I have to buy milk, and when I leave my flat there's no one in the park across the street. There's still no one there when I came back, but in a very significant way. It's all I can do to stop myself performing a detection charm right there, and then to make sure there's no one in an invisibility cloak lurking on the bench. I get upstairs and move my armchair to the open window so I can keep an eye out while I read. I fall asleep eventually and get woken up by something that I am sure is the sound of someone disapparating

When I make it in to work on Monday I go straight to Kingsley.

"Do you think," I say before he has even acknowledged my presence, "that if You Know Who is back the Death Eaters would be recruiting?"

"Tonks, it's Monday morning," he says still only half way out of his coat, "and I haven't had coffee. What?"

"I think I'm being followed."

"By Death Eaters?"

"Maybe," I say quietly, I mean who else could it be?

He laughs at me, and really it's no more than I deserve, and it's good I've told him because now I realise what a prat I'm being: seeing people in shop windows, people who have a perfect right to be shopping, or walking in the park on a Sunday.

Kingsley has finally stopped laughing and sat down. "All right, why are Death Eaters following you?"

I should have gone out with Angela on Sunday, I should not have spent it reading a book from the library about espionage during the First War in the vague hope it would tell me something I didn't already know, but I'm here now and may as well get it off my chest.

"Because I'm Sirius Black's cousin and I work at the Ministry and they might want me to help them hide where he is, feed you false information."

Kingsley looks at me for a heartbeat and then tries very hard not to smile, "Tonks, if a Ministry employee, an auror no less, was, for whatever reason, deliberately forging evidence regarding Sirius Black I'm sure we would realise. The Death Eaters wouldn't waste their time."

He is trying desperately hard not to laugh now.

"He's still in Tibet then?"

"Oh yes," Kingsley isn't looking at me but his shoulders are shaking, "trust me Tonks, you are not being followed by Death Eaters, now stop wasting your time and go and Floo Mrs Swithering."

"Do you think I'm insane?"

I feel it, although slightly better now that I have shared it with someone.

"No more than usual," he sits back in his chair, "look, forget about this whole Order thing, just for today, go and do some proper work and then come to the pub with me and Moody tonight."

"You sure I wont be a gooseberry, seeing as the two of you have been so thick lately."

"I'll see if I can find you a date, how about that?"

"Don't you dare, Shacklebolt, if I need a date I'll track him down myself."

He nods and I go to my cubicle fully intending to be sensible and professional. It lasts until I hear the high-pitched voice of Mrs Swithering from the floo network and then I turn tail and run like a coward.

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Werewolf Registry is on level four, but that's the easy part. I spend half an hour waiting around in the Being Division until a rather harassed witch in Support Services directs me to the Beast Division. I finally end up in Werewolf Registry after convincing a wizard with muscles that are clearly bigger than his brain cells that I don't actually want a werewolf brought in for questioning I just need the records. You know, paper with pretty squiggles on. He directs me to a room that is not the cheeriest one in the Ministry, it's even worse than Scrimgeour's office and that has beige walls. I hate myself for coming here, but the truth is the only lead I have that does not point the way to professional suicide is Remus Lupin.

The overweight wizard groans as I mention his name and takes the cigar out his mouth.

"What's he done this time?"

"In trouble a lot is he?"

He makes a humphing noise and I take a step backwards in the interests of hygiene.

"Nothing we can prove," he jabs the cigar in my direction, "that's what's so damn suspicious."

"It says on his file that he isn't considered feral."

That humphing noise again, it really is amazing, like there's a train trying to escape from his nose, "don't mean you can trust him though, slimy bugger, far too polite."

I don't think that this man is really one to talk about being slimy, even the file is slightly damp where he has been holding it under his arm and I shift my fingers to dryer territory.

"You don't like him?"

"Werewolf isn't he?"

"So why are you working here?"

"Someone's got to keep an eye on them."

I nod slowly letting it all sink in, no wonder the Ministry has such a problem with werewolves if this is what they have to put up with. The amount of effort it took to get here has made me ready to bite someone. I knew Umbridge was prejudice, but I can see the appeal of running off to live outside society if it meant I wouldn't have to deal with this sweaty bigot.

"Urm." I try to remain calm, "it says here you don't know where he is."

"No," this time the cigar stays in his mouth, held in place by teeth that are still carrying the remains of his lunch, looks like cress from here.

"Has anyone bothered to look for him?"

Apparently not, "all right," I scan the file again quickly, age, parent's names, significant markings when transformed, number. I double take at that, he has a number?

Finally I find an address for his parents.

"Dead," the sweaty bigot says, "but he uses their house sometimes, think it's his now, they're still allowed to own property at the moment."

I nod again and hand him back the folder trying to keep as far away from him as possible because he really has allowed me to discover new levels of repulsion.

"Thank you for your time."

He humphs at me one last time and I go back to the Auror Office to floo Mrs Swithering. Her husband's allotment is in a small country town that happens to be very close to the Lupin residence.

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It takes all my patience and skill to get away with my life. Mrs Swithering has far too much time on her hands, and seems to know far too much about setting wards and seeking spells, she even teaches me ones that I've never heard of before she is satisfied Voldermort is not hiding among the cabbages. In thanks she gives me rock cakes, I drop them in a ditch on the way to my next assignment.

It's a small house set in the middle of nowhere and back from a main road, which makes sense. I bet there is a shed at the end of the garden with wards around it, or a very solid basement. I land my broom by the gate and walk up the path just in case people are in, although by the time I reach the door it looks unlikely and I don't bother to knock just stare in through the window. It turns out to be the kitchen window, and there is a cup on the draining board, but that is not conclusive. I decide on whether breaking in would be a good move and instead just move around the house making use of the other ground floor windows. Nothing else looks really out of place, although everything seems to have a quiet empty look. I tap my foot on the overgrown flowerbed and try to focus, try to work out exactly what I'm looking for. Then it finds me.

I don't move for a minute, but Death Eater or not I am getting entirely fed up with this. Time to put my stealth and tracking to the test. I think he realises I'm there, but just a split second too late. He's lanky but fortunately doesn't weigh very much, and if he hadn't been in my thoughts all day I probably wouldn't have even recognised him.

"Why are you following me?"

"Following you? This is my house". Remus Lupin doesn't sound like a man being pinned to the wall with a wand to his throat. He sounds like we're talking about the weather, and damn it, he does have point.

"So you weren't in the pub last Friday? Or in Diagon Alley?"

"Ah, yes I did think I hadn't got away with that."

"I am an auror you know?" I say if huffily, almost petulantly.

"Look this is really rather awkward, for me anyway, believe me Sirius is going to have a field day."

"Sirius?" I gape.

"Thank you," he takes the wand out of my unresisting hand and pushes me gently backwards. This week has just been one embarrassment after another, by now you'd think I'd be getting used to it.

"Now we can act like civilised people."

"Says the stalker."

"Trust me it isn't something I'd choose to do normally. I don't suppose you'd be inclined to pretend this didn't happen?"

"Tell me about Sirius."

"He's got black hair, was really grumpy this morning and has a habit of eating all the cereal, and then leaving the empty box in the cupboard."

I look at him deadpan.

"Very well, but it's really a long story, would you like to go inside?"

I'm dimly aware that this isn't how it should be happening, that I really shouldn't be agreeing to this, but somehow he has managed to take complete control of the situation and I am actually thinking a cup of tea and a sit down might be a good idea to calm my nerves. Dear Merlin, I'm turning into my mother. This thought returns my common sense at the last minute.

"How about I take you in for questioning?"

"I don't think that's an option do you?"

He holds up my wand, just in case I'd forgotten he'd stolen it. Cocky bastard. I am an auror after all, even though I haven't been acting like it lately, and we are forced to learn wandless magic in basic training. I don't even move my hand and the wand jumps out of his fingers leading to a truly comical moment as he tries to grab it back, but I step forward snatching it away and send a hex straight at his head. He's already changed direction and it smashes into the wall causing the ivy to freeze. I shoot another hex at him, but he is moving backwards and blocks it calmly.

"Is that the best you can do?" I shout at him.

"I was trying to be a gentleman," he blocks the next spell but still doesn't try to fight back.

"Don't bother on my account."

"If you insist".

Nothing happens, and then something solid bounces on the back of my head. I turn round to see a bright green watering can hovering in mid air, it bumps into my nose, which doesn't hurt but is really damn annoying. I'm about to say it reminds me of him but the thought is cut off by the sound of someone disapparating. It's kind of hard to form thoughts with a watering can using your head as a trampoline, but 'bugger' seems to sum things up pretty well.


	7. Catching the Phoenix

I hope it was his favourite watering can, that it was a present from a loved one and held deep emotional value because after it had exploded I cast a Reparo on it and caused it to explode again. That was of course after I made it stop hitting me. I storm back in to the Auror Offices in a foul mood and begin to search my pockets. Then I pull off my robes and begin to search the lining. There has to be something, something he's been using to track me. I give up when I realise that if I don't stop soon I'll be standing in my underwear, and instead slap my wand against my jeans trying to remember the incantation that reveals tracking spells. My anger is starting to fade leaving something that feels an awful lot like fear.

"Well done Tonks."

Kingsley's timing is dreadful and he really doesn't deserve the look of absolute malevolence I shoot in his direction.

"Mrs Swithering just flooed, apparently you are a polite and efficient young lady who is an example to us all."

"Grrr," I respond.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes," I'm surprised I get the word out, what with my jaw being so clenched.

"We can rain check tonight."

"I'm fine," no I'm not. I'm being stalked by one of my cousin's friends who is an ex convict, a werewolf and incredibly polite about the whole thing which just made it worse. I realise I've been following Kingsley back to his cubicle, and he picks up a scroll from a chair in the corner.

"Stay put then, I just need to see Scrimgeour and then we can make a move."

I nod and plonk myself down behind his desk and glare at the mountains of paperwork. I need to tell Kingsley about this because now it's real and not just the hairs on the back of my neck, or an over active imagination. What if he follows us to the pub? I fidget and look up and see Sirius Black glaring right back at me.

Sirius who is not in Tibet.

Not in Tibet because this morning he was with Remus Lupin eating all the cereal and being grumpy.

Remus Lupin must have that affect on people.

I definitely should tell Kingsley about that, and then a truly awful thought hits me; it explains why Kingsley found my outburst this morning so amusing. It takes a while for the significance of that to sink in and then I can feel the world fracture and shift slightly around me because despite recent events I am almost able to accuse my boss on the flippant comment of a man I've just met.

Although I should be trusting my hunches. When had Moody said that? Oh yes right after he's told me the sort of people the Order would be recruiting.

Young people.

People with fight.

People who can fight.

People with connections to the Ministry.

Oh Merlin, people like Kingsley.

Which doesn't make sense, because why would the Order of the Phoenix want to protect Sirius Black? When Kingsley comes back I am still sat there trying to work through the feelings that are kicking about in my stomach.

"Ready to go Tonks?"

Strange he doesn't look different.

"Yes."

"You sure you are up for this?"

"Oh, yes."

I know I'm probably being presumptuous, but the thing is I really do believe Voldermort is back, and that it is highly possible that Dumbledore would reform the Order of the Phoenix. Just to top it all off I really do want to believe that Sirius is innocent because the man who used to charm my teddy bears into a conga line really can't be responsible for the death of all those people. What I also believe, right now, is that Kingsley, and probably Moody, are so dead because the emotion that has finally won out is one of acute disappointment that they are involved in Merlin knows what and didn't tell me.

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The Muggle pub is busy, full of young trendy things making an awful lot of noise. I keep a close tail on Kingsley as he works his way politely and firmly through the crowd, at least my body does but my mind is racing with what is going to happen next, how exactly I am going to confront them without sounding mad and/or hysterical. It occurs to me belatedly that perhaps I should have actually told someone where I was going. Kinglsey waves and I hear Moody's voice respond, the sound of it makes me clench my hands, why didn't he tell me about this? Aren't I good enough?

He has a hat over his magical eye, which to be honest only draws attention to it. Kingsley may look at home here, but me with my hair and Moody and his eye must look like we've escaped from children's fiction. Kingsley slides into the booth and belatedly I notice the third man who is trying not to meet my eye.

"You bloody coward," I shout at him, my mouth shooting off with out reference to my brain.

"You've met?" Kingsley looks at Lupin and then at me.

"Not under the best of circumstances."

"You set a watering can on me."

"What?" Kingsley looks at Moody.

"It appears Lupin is not the skilled tracker we thought he was."

"I seem to remember you were very smug when you realised she'd figured it out."

"Figured what out?" I can feel rationality leaking away at speed.

"Sit down Tonks," Moody says gruffly.

"You were following me!"

"Sit down," Moody grabs my elbow and pulls me roughly on to the seat next to him.

"Standard procedure," Kingsley explains, "we wanted to make sure the other side hadn't got hold of you first. We chose Remus because we thought you'd be less likely to recognise him. I've been watching you at work, he's been watching you outside."

"Why? What the bloody hell is going on here?"

"Pull yourself together," Moody snaps.

I look at the three men who are sporting expressions that range from embarrassment (Moody), puzzlement (Kinglsey) and down right amusement (Lupin).

All right, I'm calm.

"Someone tell me what is going on." I take a deep breath, "please."

Moody takes something out of his pocket and pushes it across the table, it's a curl of parchment, hardly impressive but I unroll it, "the headquart…"

"In your head, Tonks," Moody sighs, "Kingsley and I have been saying lots of nice things about you, so don't let us down before we even get there."

I am still sitting there staring at the piece of parchment. I recognise the handwriting, I've seen it on my end of year report cards often enough, "Nymphadora shows great promise but an unnatural gift for trouble', after a while I become aware that my mouth is open.

"Meeting starts at eight," Kingsley says, "we thought you might be interested, what with your recent obsession."

"Ur huh," I drag my voice out from wherever it's been hiding, but fail to put it to good use. "So he is back?" I manage finally.

"Yes," Moody says and I feel a warm fuzzy glow in the pit of my stomach, probably not the most sensible feeling to have about Voldermort returning. "So I was right…."

"And Scrimgeour is wrong, yes Tonks," Kingsley gives me the understanding smile of a fellow Ministry dogsbody, "and while we are feeding your ego, you were also right about Arthur."

"And Snape," growls Moody.

"Now I know you're taking the piss."

"Oh that's nothing," Remus Lupin is smiling and I notice reluctantly that there's something quite endearing about it, "wait until you meet Sirius."

"He's innocent?"

"Yes, he can't wait to tell you all about it."

I meet Kingsley's eye and he has the decency to look slightly guilty, "he's here in London," he admits.

I actually sigh. It's like a knot in my stomach, one that I didn't even know was there, has uncoiled.

"And I can see him?"

"I don't think he'd forgive us if you didn't," Lupin is still grinning as though someone has told him the best joke in the world.

"Just one thing," Kingsley says, "that project Scrimgeour set you; we'd appreciate it if you weren't quite so thorough in future."

I nod enjoying a world that is very slowly starting to make sense again, "I'll say it went to Tibet then, shall I?"


End file.
